Forget Us Not Into Alteration
by Jalen Strix
Summary: In which Sarah discovers the perils of switching fandom allegiances, and the consequences thereof.
1. Allegiance

_This was written for a challenge at the lovely labyfic livejournal community, with the following required elements: a big, creaky house, and noises of a distinctly goblin-y nature._

**Forget Us Not** **Into Alteration**

_In which Sarah discovers the perils of switching fandom allegiances._

* * *

The girls paused for a moment once the immense structure came fully into view. It had an honest-to-goodness turret.

Sarah let out an appreciative whistle. "Perfect goth club material."

Mandy grinned. "You know it. International goth/industrial club listing for the win, baby."

"Hell, yeah," agreed Lynn. "I hope the music is as good as the decor."

Mandy eyed the description on her phone. "It claims they're supposed to have thirteen different rooms spinning everything from darkwave to death metal to ethereal ambient."

Sarah arched an eyebrow. "Thirteen different rooms? Holy monkeys, how big _is_ this place?"

"Big enough to have a smashing time," replied Lynn. "Also, what the hell is ethereal ambient?"

Mandy shrugged. "Guess we'll find out. C'mon – there's the entrance. Let's get out of the rain."

"Awww, look – it has its own uber-gothy welcome sign!" Sarah sighed fondly as they wandered beneath the protective overhang of the patio. "You have to appreciate good calligraphy."

"And good drama," noted Mandy. "'_Beware, for the path you take could lead to certain destruction'._ Ooooooooh." She waggled her eyebrows theatrically.

"It's just a false alarm," replied Sarah.

"What?" Mandy looked at her quizzically.

Sarah shook her head. "Sorry, I…never mind. What's that scratched beneath it?" She pointed at some delicate, curving lines below the words. "Do you see it? Looks like…sweet holy Tolkien, I think it's the black speech of Mordor. I _love_ this place."

Lynn squinted at the lines. "How do you even know these things? That totally looks like chicken scratch."

"Only to those unversed in Tengwar," Sarah replied loftily.

"Alright, fangirl, so what does it say?" said Mandy.

"Uh…don't have my lexicon handy. Hold on," Sarah replied, whipping out her phone. "Interwebs to the rescue…aha, here we go. Let's see…" She stared at the scratches for a moment. "Hmmm, a bunch of words that aren't listed here actually. Wait, here's one: _Gimbatul._ 'Find them'". She paused, scrutinizing the sign_._"_Thrakizish_. 'Bring me'. _Lug_. 'Tower'. _Goth_!? Oh, that's actually a real word. 'Lord', apparently." She laughed, the merry sound carried away by the rising wind.

Lynn rolled her eyes, tapping her foot. "C'mon! Before the club closes while you two are geeking out at the sign."

The interior turned out to be as sumptuous as the exterior intimated, liberally decorated in satin, damask, and tastefully lit candelabras. Velvet furniture lined the wood-paneled walls, and peeked enticingly from inside rooms.

"Ah, there's the 80s room!" Lynn zipped around a wainscoted corner and onto a glossy dance floor as a familiar chorus drifted in. _You spin me right round, baby, right round,_ _like a record, baby…_

Mandy glanced at Sarah, with a wry grin. "Could have predicted that one. Shall we?"

"Do let's."

* * *

Several songs later, Sarah broke off in search of a drink, leaving Lynn still going strong to a remix of _Let's Dance_ while Mandy watched her from a conveniently located red velvet chaise lounge.

It turned out to be more of a quest than Sarah anticipated. She found room after room filled with delightful musical variants and delightful people dancing to them, but nary a bar to be seen. _Sweet Telperion, I wish I could find some water._..

She rounded another corner, nearly tripping over a darkly lacquered wooden step. Following the stairs up, she discovered a rather large, deserted room filled with yet more velvet furniture. There was a single window open to let the night air in, and the most curious scritching sounds were echoing against the wooden floor and walls, accompanied by a hollow whistling that put her in mind of a door's threshold. _Huh, this must be that ethereal ambient business on some kind of preset._ She walked over to the window and licked her lips, sighing melodramatically. "My eternal _soul_ for some water_."_

Thunder rolled and she immediately got a face full of rain, courtesy of the wild storm outside. She sucked gratefully at the moisture trickling along her mouth, laughing softly. "Careful what you wish for, check."

"_Yes_, lady."

Sarah froze for several heartbeats before turning slowly back around.

Lightning flashed for a shocking instant, illuminating scores of glittering eyes in hulking man-size forms. Then it was mostly dark again, with only the smoky, skittering presence of many creatures hanging in the cool air.

"You," hissed a voice like nails, "_forgots_ us, lady."

A chill ran along Sarah's spine.

"Like we was in an oubliette," murmured another voice.

"Dark and lonely, it was," said the first voice.

"And we got so…_hungry_," said a third voice.

Sarah scraped her voice into a gulping whisper. "Hungry for what?"

"Dreams, lady," said the first voice. "Imagination and illusions, stories and songs. Sweeter than all the goblin fruit that never was. Sweeter than blood."

"We needs it, lady," said the second voice, "needs it so much."

"You had such tasty dreams, luscious and sweet like bone marrow." The first voice had taken on a forlorn note.

"Memory's seed makes the best, most powerful dreams," continued the third voice.

"But they went away when you forgot us. Left us for a different fandom," said the second voice, rife with accusation. "Cruel lady, very cruel."

Sarah swallowed. "Is that why you look…different?"

"This?" gestured a goblin with a gaping hole for a nose and claws like scalpels, splaying his fingers wide and smiling horribly to show broken triangular teeth. The rest of the horde chortled. "You thank Peter Jackson for this, lady."

Sarah blinked. "The director? But why…oh. Oh no."

"Oh _yes_. When we gets hungry enough, we feed on what dreams there is. Lots of goblin dreams come from Mr-Jackson-Sir. Not so tasty fine as yours–"

"Never was, not since!" chorused several voices like sandpaper.

"–but we makes do, lady." The first goblin shrugged a misshapen shoulder.

Sarah took a deep breath, words slipping like wet stones. "And your king?"

A velvety voice came from above and behind her, ghosting along her skin like downy feathers. "Fortunately, the rock singer spurs far more dreams than Director Jackson's goblin king, for rather obvious reasons. I've remained fairly unscathed."

She whirled to face him, a perfidious sigh of relief leaking out. "Thank goodness for small fa–" She broke off as she came almost eye-to-trousers with Jareth, who was nearly just as she remembered him, though now more strongly resembling David Bowie and sprawled majestically on what looked suspiciously like a throne of splintered floorboards.

"Large favors, really." His pointed smile positively twinkled with amusement.

She attempted to lift her eyes towards his face, and succeeded at resting them on the taut line of his thigh, which was propped up on a particularly jagged bit of wood. "That can't be very comfortable." The words tripped out before she could think.

"We all _make do_, Sarah love." There was a sinister caress layered in the words.

"But now we don't need to make do no more," chittered a goblin voice gleefully from behind her. "We got you here, lady. And now…"

Another voice picked up the chanting cadence."…now we eat…"

And more voices. "…eat your dreams…"

And more."…eat them _all up_."

"Leave you empty as dust," continued the first goblin, above the murmuring chorus, "just like we were. Fair's fair." The horde had grown around their shining king as they spoke, a glistening, wrinkled mass of sharp-fingered bodies poised to strike.

Sarah's eyes flicked to Jareth's, her survival instinct whirring. "That also doesn't sound very comfortable. And since when do you all value what's fair, anyway?"

Jareth's grin was decidedly predatory. "You're short on options, love. And we're all long on appetite here."

_Think fast, Williams._ She licked her lips, noting how Jareth's eyes tracked the movement of her tongue. "If you feast on my dreams till there's nothing left of me, they'll be gone forever, won't they?"

There was a pause in the writhing mass. "Lovely feast, though," murmured a goblin voice. "Juicy and luscious, so sweet from Memory's seed, so fresh after so long…" Whispers of agreement and the clicking of teeth began to build again in an aching wave.

Jareth silenced them with a finger snap, a flicker of something dark in his eyes. "Gone forever indeed. What of it?"

_Like what you see, goblin king?_ She leaned into him, letting her corset strategically display some assets. "If they're so very, very good…well, why destroy the source?"

A golden eyebrow arched, his expression unreadable as his eyes drifted along her exposed cleavage before coming back up to her eyes. "If the milk's flowing, why eat the cow, you mean?"

_Touché. Different approach needed._ She straightened back up, resting an elbow jauntily on his knee. "I'll kindly ignore the bovine analogy, but yes. What if I were to offer you my dreams instead, freely given?"

He blinked slowly. "Aren't I the one who's supposed to be offering dreams? That's how our little drama plays out."

She arched an eyebrow back at him, drumming her fingers gently along his knee. "Clearly it's time for an update. You've been neglected, all of you. And heaven knows I've generated enough Tolkien fanfiction to stock a Teleri king's library. Just imagine if I were to turn my energies back your way."

His gloved hand closed on top of her fingers. "What precisely are you proposing, clever girl?"

"Long on appetite, are you? Let me tell stories of you. Every kind of story you could imagine."

His eyes glittered, sharp with interest. "I can imagine quite a lot."

She held his gaze, unflinching. "So can I. Try me."

"Fine. A trial run. Tell us a story of goblins and their king."

"And a chicken!" cackled a goblin to her left. "I've missed chickens, I have."

Her lips quirked in a half-smile. "Goblins, their king, and at least one chicken. Alright then, once upon a time, there was a lonesome king–"

"Lonesome?" Jareth's prickly disdain was apparent. "What happened to devastating or captivating? What sort of story is this, anyway?"

"My story. Now hush. It so happened that this lonesome king was both devastating and captivating…"

"Better."

"…though tragically disposed to interrupting people who were attempting to tell him and his subjects the best damn stories that they ever did hear. Which, understandably, made the stories less likely to get told."

A goblin whimper resounded in the silence, followed by a plaintive moan, and suddenly hundreds of ravenous eyes turned to look at their king in a rather unfriendly manner.

Jareth's lips twitched in adversarial pleasure. "So, you were saying about the king?"

"Yes." Sarah smiled sweetly at him. "It happened that this lonesome, devastating, and captivating king was plagued by an unholy poultry riot…"

"Oooooh," came an appreciative goblin murmur and a smacking of lips as the horde settled down to listen.


	2. Propositions

**Propositions**

_Author's Note: After several excellent suggestions for a continuation of the original one-shot, this emerged._

* * *

"-and so the pusillanimous poultry potentate indeed found himself celebrated mightily at the feast of the crafty Goblin King...in the full bellies of the goblins. The end." Sarah closed her story with a flourish and a sweeping bow.

Uproarious applause broke out from the horde, with many replete sighs and the occasional belch. She noted that there was a softening to certain misshapen features here and there, a subtle symmetry reasserting itself.

She smiled in satisfaction as she turned to Jareth. "So how was my trial run?"

He tapped a finger slowly against his chin, drawing out the moment. "Acceptable."

"Only acceptable?" She arched an eyebrow and glanced at the goblins sprawled happily on either side of him.

His smile was slick as a blade. "Enough that we'll keep you on. For now."

"Mmm, ominous. Keep me on till when?"

"Until you no longer...satisfy." There was a sibilance to the word that left the double entendre bare between them.

_Now that's back on the table, is it?_ She crossed her arms."So what, I'm pulling a Scheherazade and amusing my king for my life?"

"My king," he rolled the words along his tongue, "I do like the sound of that."

She snorted and muttered under her breath, "_Insufferable_."

His eyes flashed and his smile widened considerably. "But with excellent hearing and in charge of a goblin horde. Also devastating and captivating, according to you."

"Ha! And crafty and lonely to boot." She paused and tilted her head thoughtfully. "How much power do I have over you with my storytelling?"

Menace suddenly exploded around him though he remained absolutely still.

"I see." A dangerous wisp of mischief trickled through her, heating her blood. "You know, I could tell of terrible things for a certain devastating, captivating monarch. Wouldn't want that."

"I could slice out your tongue before you could utter the words." His own words fell soft as snowflakes.

She raised her chin. "I could still write of said terrible things."

"And I could slice off your hands, too."

She smiled back, a calculated bearing of teeth. "And I would still think them. And if you sliced out my brain, well then, we're back to having no stories at all. So why don't we bypass this pissing contest and get straight to reasonable terms?"

There was merriment in his eyes suddenly, and an unmistakable appreciation. "And what if I'm enjoying this pissing contest?"

She rolled her eyes, the tension evaporating as quickly as it had come. "Of course you would." She considered him for a moment. "You like sparring with me, don't you? Been bored?"

A hunger flared in his eyes, and pride like an iron spike.

She leaned in to rest her elbows on the splintered armrest of his makeshift throne. "More than a bit, then. But why me in particular? Surely with you looking more like David Bowie than ever - I mean, have you seen _The Hunger_'s shower scene?" She raised her eyebrows meaningfully, watching recognition slide across his face. "You have, then. Good. But surely given that, you'd have plenty of willing volunteers for the position of goblin court storyteller. Particularly if there's more than one Scheherazade component."

He sighed softly. "None of them have Memory's seed."

The vulnerability in the sigh surprised her, and made her place her hand over his before she thought better of it. "What precisely is that? Your goblins mentioned it before."

He turned his hand over to hold hers. "That...is powerfully useful information." His gloved fingers began to stroke her palm. "I propose terms for our arrangement. You will remain with us, amuse us, and tell us stories of all kinds, restoring us to our former glory. For every satisfactory story you tell, I will give you a piece of information about Memory's seed and your relationship to it."

She pursed her lips and attempted to extricate her hand. "Your offer leaves something to be desired."

His grip was a leather vise around her wrist. "So make a counteroffer."

"Ah, so we're negotiating."

"Always."

"I see." She stroked one finger contemplatively over the exposed skin of his wrist, measuring the effect this had on him. "Alright. I will meet you once a month to amuse you and tell you stories. Amusement, I should note," she looked pointedly at him, "consists only of things I willingly consent to."

He reflected on this, his eyes following her finger in its rhythmic caress. "Willing consent, hmmm?"

"Yes."

There was a certain mischievous fire in his eyes when he looked back up at her, as if a gauntlet had been thrown. "Willing consent is acceptable. Do continue."

_Should have known. Ah well, in for a penny..._"In return, for every story I tell that is found to be satisfactory, you will tell me a true piece of information about Memory's seed that I find to be satisfactory. So no 'it begins with an M' or any such nonsense." She paused, considering him. "Actually, let's make it one satisfactory piece of truthful information of my choosing for every satisfactory story." She smiled wryly. "Why restrict ourselves?"

"Why indeed?" His voice rolled out like warm honey, deliberate and dangerous.

She ignored the chills that rippled along her skin. "Agreed or no, your majesty?"

He laughed suddenly and nodded. "Agreed on the exchange." His gloved fingers trailed across her palm again. "You will meet us every other day, however."

"Twice a month."

"Once a week."

"Only if you promise proper refreshments. I've got a thirst right now like you wouldn't believe."

His smile was rapacious. "As do we. Agreed, then. You will come to us every Saturday, starting two days hence."

She narrowed her eyes. "That'll be twice this week."

"And won't it be just delightful?" It was impossible to ignore the blatantly hopeful looks of the goblins surrounding him.

She sighed. "Fine, fine..."

"So pacted." Chiming not-bells tinkled just out of hearing as he drew her hand to him and brushed a kiss across the top of it.

She was unapologetic in her enjoyment of that little maneuver, which clearly pleased him. "So then, how exactly do I find you on Saturdays if I'm not tripping through enchanted portals in goth clubs?"

His grin was positively toothsome. "We'll find you."

She closed her eyes briefly, shaking her head. "Any particular time?"

"When the mood strikes us."

"You enjoy being this irritatingly mysterious, don't you?"

"To you especially." A jovial light danced in his eyes. "Let's say that the mood will most likely strike us at one in the afternoon. Now," his hand made a graceful flourish, "off you go till Saturday. We look forward to what you'll have for us then."

"I'm sure. Any requests I should prepare for?"

"Surprise us."

A soft, creaky goblin voice piped up. "But if it happens to involve a good ale-"

"-or a hot tub-" interrupted another.

"-riding horseback at sunrise-" added a third.

And the flood gates opened.

"-a game of dice-"

"-a circus-"

"-a swinging candelabra, and songs-"

"-true love-"

"-pirates-"

"-a trebuchet-"

"-talking flowers-"

"-penguins-"

"-marbles-"

"-a pedicure-"

She held up her hands to stymie the cascading whispers. "I'll see what I can do." She inclined her head in a slight bow and turned towards the door. "Until Saturday, dear horde."

Lightning flashed and the room was abruptly empty, leaving only the lingering echo of goblin voices overlaid with the rich velvety tones of their king. "Until Saturday, dear lady."


End file.
